


Hold me

by Cefhclwords



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cefhclwords/pseuds/Cefhclwords
Summary: "Burnt orange, Dele mused pointlessly, was a weird fucking colour choice for carpet. Despite the high price point that accompanied a nights stay, the interior of the hotel halls was nothing short of creepy."Based on the prompt: "After their defeat and ignoring each other, even after going to their hotel rooms and dele showing up in the at 3 am saying “Can you just hold me?”





	Hold me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hi hello! These are works I originally posted to my tumblr: cefhclwords but I am also posting them here! please enjoy and give me any feeback, I'm a little nervous putting my work here and would love to hear what you think! :)

Burnt orange, Dele mused pointlessly, was a weird fucking colour choice for carpet. Despite the high price point that accompanied a nights stay, the interior of the hotel halls was nothing short of creepy.

Burnt orange carpet, baby blue walls with gold accents, low hanging antique chandeliers- Dele could safely say his late night walk hadn’t been close to scenic.

If anything, the unaccepting surroundings made regret claw at the pit of his stomach- he fell back to an easy technique self-soothing, one he had done before he realised it was a form of comforting himself.

Dele’s fingers gathered the sleeves of his hoodie, tugging till his hands were hidden, body swarmed by the oversized material, hood up over his head. It felt safer like this, cocooned in thick fabric drenched in the familiar scent of his fabric softener, the same one that he used on his sheets at home.

This was all part of too he guessed, part of the shutting off. Like oversized hoodies and loose trackies could shield him.

The worst part maybe was how sharply aware he was of it, how clearly Dele saw himself, conscious in each choice to turn away from his teammates, slip away quickly from handshakes and hugs. Dele didn’t want to hear words of commiseration, hope for next time.

Dele wanted it gone all gone, the second the pitch ended he wished to be alone in a room, the only disappointment to feel was his own. All he wanted was to fast forward skip this part till he was back on the pitch, had the chance to prove himself again.

Dele had never had a way with words, and he’d never felt particularly listened to either. Passed between his parents, wishing he had someone to ask him what he thought, what he wanted. Still young, Dele had learnt words had little commodity- adults spoke with action.

So that’s how Dele had functioned, from thirteen, given the chance to be seen finally, he’d worked endlessly to make each action he made count.

Every drill, every game, every touch of the ball, that was how he showed his worth, explained his love for the game, how he ensured to himself he was becoming the man he could be.

A loss locked Dele up, inactive and unable to change it. The whistle blew and there was a period of time, a day, a week, a few weeks, a month that he couldn’t play, he couldn’t work hard- be better to show not tell exactly how much he wanted this.

It left him paralysed and wanting, unsure how to handle himself in those solitary hours. He had learned social media after a loss was only another evil, pulling him deeper into self-doubt with no answers he could provide.

After a win, it was hard to pull him from Twitter, Instagram- from a livestream, he loved the joy he could share with the fans, rose high on the confirmation a won gave him. People watched him, noticed him, they saw him and he didn’t go ignored, he was valued.

The burnt orange carpet leads him to a white door, the mirror of his own room down the other end of the hall. Dele sighs and hangs his head for a moment, silence ringing back through his ears.

His hand covered with the fabric of his sleeve patterns a dull knock on the door, eyes closed as he thinks back to his actions after the loss tonight.

The way he’d turned his back on Eric kept his head down and avoided any contact, let his closed body language tell Eric he didn’t want his pitying gaze, his soft touches. Not tonight, not when he didn’t feel worthy of even that.

To be honest, Dele had been nervous about his reaction if Eric had touched him, not sure he’d keep it together.

 

This thing, more than friends, not quiet boyfriends, but exclusive, important. It was fragile still, fresh and Dele feared more often than he should he would tear it down.

The door clicks open and a biting air-conditioned breeze pushes out over Dele, making him shiver. Eric always ran so warm- sleeping naked with just a sheet, air conditioning high or window open even some nights through the winter.

Dele looks up and paints a tired smile over his mouth, hands sliding into the pouch pocket of the hoodie. God he probably looks pathetic, and he doesn’t even know how to start this, to explain what he needs, that he needs Eric, that he can’t be alone, not tonight, even though he was the one to turn away in the first place.

Eric looks like a dream, even exhausted and fresh off a loss, eyes soft with tiredness.

He can’t find the right words to ask, to say, I need to be with you but please don’t tell me it’ll be ok, please don’t expect anything of me, please don’t look at me and see all the mistakes I just made.

Dele’s never known how to ask, I need to be alone but I need to be alone with you

In the end, Dele doesn’t get a word in, Eric reaches out and tugs Dele in by his shoulder, kissing his temple as they stood pressed together, Eric reached being them and closed the door, before he turned and walked into the room, feet bare and just a pair of trackies on.

The television was on low, some stupid dating reality show- perfectly mindless, white noise distraction and far far away from the world of missed goals and heartbroken fans. It was the only source of light in the room apart from a small lamp on the desk tucked on the opposite side of the room to the bed. It seemed fitting, the soft warm light, dim and welcoming.

Dele watched Eric climb into the bed, leaning back against the pillows stacked against the headboard, his legs were sprawled out, a large bowl of fruit salad on the bedside table.

Dele feels his eyelids flutter, his shoulders relax and the weight he’d been dragging loosen just the slightest bit. Without looking up, Eric places a piece of pineapple in his mouth, tugging the covers open in an invitation. 

 

“Think Gina is going to kiss Steve on the group date and Amanda and Jane are not happy about it, obviously,” Eric explained, tone even, as if discussing the weather. It was as if he believed Dele had shown up to watch whatever the fuck he was talking about, and needed an update of what he missed.

Eric’s voice had been low and husky like it usually was after sleep and Dele wondered if like him, sleep had found Eric momentarily, purely physical exhaustion; before his mind pulled him back into being awake, restless and unsure.

Dele climbed into the bed, socked feet and all, eyes closing as his head falls to rest on Eric’s chest, feeling the covers being pulled up over him.

“Can you just hold me?”

The question is delayed, an echo of what he should have opened with, back at the door. Eric hums and had already begun to slide a hand under Dele’s hoodie, rubbing a soothing a pattern over the warm skin of his lower back.

Eric bowed his chin to kiss Dele’s forehead, the slope of his nose, the soft skin beside his left eyelids before he sat back, arms tight where he held Dele firmly against him. 

Dele breaths out, what he feels like is for the first time since the game ended, and opens his eyes again, watching the pointless show lazily, blinking slowly.

Alone together.

He wonders why he doubted Eric’s ability to know exactly what he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Request prompts or read more at my tumblr: cefhclwords :)


End file.
